Second Chances
by Annonimous4862
Summary: In which Bethany gets a new chance at life in a different, possibly better place. Oneshot collection.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer : I own nothing. Warning : Language.**_

"_Stay with me,missy!"_

The first thing Bethany felt was confusion. That was quickly overlooked in favor of the second, more alarming thing she felt: pain. With herculean effort, she managed to lift a hand to touch the source, her gut. Something liquid and warm touched her fingers – blood. She was bleeding to death. _What- How?_

She remembered her father's lessons – calm down, don't panic, organize your thoughts. She decided if she was dying, she might as well do it in a neat state of mind. Bethany took a deep breath, or at least tried to. It was hard to do in her current state. Tackle your problems one by one, her father had said. She would start by Very-Important-Question-Number-One: what in the name of the Maker had happened?

She immediately wished she hadn't asked. Memories flooded her mind; Anders and the Chantry, the inevitable confront between The Circle and the Templars, how Orisno had become that monster – how he'd covered up for the man who murdered her mother. And then – oh, Maker.

_Do what you have to, Meredith._

Her brother. Her own brother had given the order to kill her. And the worst part of it was, she couldn't blame him. She understood. She was, after all, responsible for ruining her family – always on the run, never in one place for too long; when they got to Kirkwall, they needed money, and they needed it quick – to protect her. Always her fault, always, her and her cursed magic and her thrice damned Templars.

He hadn't looked her in the eyes when he did, hadn't looked at her ever again, even when she told him she hoped it was worth it. She had been true about it, too. She didn't resent her brother, not really, and she honestly hoped he had a happier future. No such luck for her, though; she doubted she'd survive being completed run through by Meredith's lyrium sword.

Which brought Very-Important-Question-Number-Two: Why was she not dead? Well, at least that one situation wouldn't trouble her for long. She focused on the fading noises around her. Desperate shouted orders, boots clanging, and general mayhem. The sounds grew ever more distance and her head felt light; she wouldn't last much longer. At least the pain was fading, too. Maybe she'd finally get her peace.

"_Who – Move over – Any restoration? - Fetch Wuunferth – Now!"_

That one voice called her attention; it seemed very confident, barking out orders. Reminded her a bit of her brother, always so sure of his decisions –

She was brutally snatched from her drifting and back into the solid world as a wave of warm healing energy coursed through her, delaying her death a bit longer. She could hear the voices more clearly now, and could also feel very light slaps on her cheek.

"Lass? Talk to me, lass. Come on, open your eyes. Don't give up."

His voice was quite persuasive, and she decided she'd open her eyes, if only to see the face of the man who was trying to save her. Big mistake. She whimpered as the blinding light impaled itself in her eyes, and immediately closed them shut again, hiding from the burning clarity. She felt warm skin touch her hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

"That's it, lass, it'll be okay, help is already on its way," He encouraged. "_Where in Oblivion is that wretched mage?!_"

The sudden change from soft to angry on his voice, plus the mention of 'wretched mages' made Bethany open her eyes again. She filled up with tears, but resisted the urge to close them this time. Slowly, her pupils went into focus and she could see what she thought was a blonde head hovering above her. It was hard to tell – she could only discern moving blurs.

"That wretched mage was getting out of the jail he was wrongfully put in!" Another voice snapped, and she heard approaching footsteps. "What happened to her?"

"She was very clearly stabbed through the gut," The first man growled back.

"Good to see your medical skills are better than your detective ones," The newcomer retorted. "Unfortunately, us necromancers are not so good at restoration, you know."

"Well you'd better _fucking learn it quick, _because if she doesn't make it, you'll certainly need it."

The other didn't reply. She saw someone kneel next to her; hands touched her abdomen and the warmth of curing magic returned. Usually, she'd be amazed at meeting another mage, but at the moment, she was a bit too busy dying. Her hand was squeezed again, and she turned to the side to see the fuzzy blonde with the nice voice nodding at her.

"Don't worry, lass, you'll be fine. I got run through once too, and I'm still good and going, see?"

"It only affected his brains," The man from the left, the mage, grunted.

The two fell into arguing again, but Bethany didn't bother to follow their words. Incredibly, the pain had started to subside, and she begun to believe that, despite everything, she might actually live. Her worry was gradually exchanged for weariness, and she realized she was exhausted. When was the last time she got some decent sleep? She closed her eyes, hoping to rest, not really caring whether she'd wake up to see the next day.

"She's closed her eyes again, mage. You'd better hope she's not dead. Lass? Talk to me, lass."

Her consciousness was fading again, but she found her tongue and managed a quick, incoherent mumble.

" – _stay with me, lass. – die after all this."_

" – _be fine – Close call. Strong woman. – my amazing healing skills – will live. "_

And then she was out cold.

* * *

Pain again, but this time just a dull throbbing. Bethany's hands went to her belly and came back with a relieving lack of blood. She felt weak and her head ached. Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened her eyes, just a bit at first, then fully, and turned to take in her surroundings.

She was lying under soft covers in a bed, inside a quite cozy room. Next to her, a wardrobe and a little cabinet. To the side, she saw a door – closed. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if she was a prisoner. If so, at least she was comfortable. Taking deep breaths, she pushed herself up with a groan. That elicited a noise from the opposite side of the room and she turned her head –

Too quick. Nausea overcame her and she fell back to a lying position, black spots dancing over her vision.

"Hey, not so fast, lass. That was one ugly wound you had there. It's been five days and you're still recovering."

He moved closer, and finally, she could see him clearly. He looked no older than herself, and she would give him twenty-something years of age. He had shoulder-long, silky looking blonde hair, one single braid on the left side, contrasting with vivid blue eyes and a line of red paint diagonally above his right orb, which split in two below it. A light stubble covered his chin. He did have a nice face to go along with his nice voice –

"…Are you listening to me, lass?"

Not really, no, she wasn't. Bethany blinked in confusion. He sighed.

"I was just saying I got him. The bastard who was killing you ladies – The Butcher. I got him, took his head off too, so you needn't worry about that anymore. You're safe now, lass. I'm just really sorry I couldn't get to him before he got to you. And sorry you had to wait for that blasted mage to heal you, too – my restoration skills are laughable."

She didn't have the slightest idea of what he was talking about, but the 'blasted mage' comment didn't escape her. A heavy weight placed itself in her chest. How long until they found out what she were? How long until she was on the run, again? She couldn't even go back to The Circle. Not after what happened at Kirkwall. They'd want her head for sure.

" – not from here, are you? No one from the city seems to recognize you."

She froze. What should she say? That she was from Lothering? From Kirkwall? _Maker help me!_

"Lass? Is something wrong? Can you understand me?"

She nodded, her mind still searching furiously for some way out of this.

"Can you speak?" He questioned, puzzled.

"I -" She stopped, her sore throat and raspy voice surprising her.

"Oh," He replied, "Sore throat. Right – I'll be right back."

Bethany watched him get up from his chair and out, through the _unlocked_ door, leaving it open behind him. She realized if she wanted to escape, that was her chance, but immediately shot the possibility down. She was in no condition to run off in a potentially hostile place, with nowhere to go; she decided she might as well appreciate her little peace while it lasted.

She moved herself into a sitting position again, and noticed for the first time that she was not only clean, but also wearing a particularly fine looking belted tunic. The man reappeared in the doorway, carrying a tankard and a bowl – none of which, she realized with growing despair, she had any money to pay for. He placed the food in the counter and moved to the back of the room, from where he dragged his chair. He sat in front of her and began talking again.

"Elda gave you a bath, to clean up all that gore. I hope you don't mind the loss of your old clothes – they were beyond fixing."

She nodded and reached out to the flagon with unsteady hands, almost knocking it over. He caught it before it could fall down. She hissed in frustration at her deplorable physical state, which brought a light chuckle out of him.

"I'll drop by The White Phial later; I can get you some healing potions to speed your recovery a bit."

He moved his chair closer, and then put the flagon to her lips, tilting it slowly so she could get a drink. She felt the light burn of alcohol down her throat; it was mead, and of good quality as well. She mentally pictured Anders scolding her for drinking alcoholic beverages while recovering from a wound. Then again, Anders had blown up the Chantry, so who was he to tell her what to do anyway? She motioned for the man to spill more, and he laughed.

"Need a drink, do you?"

"You have no idea," she replied, earning more laughter.

"So, lass, do you have a name?" He said as he placed the flagon back on the counter and took the bowl on his hands instead.

"Bethany," she replied without thinking. She realized her mistake a bit too late, and added the first thing that came to her mind. "Amell."

Fortunately, he didn't seem to recognize her. Maybe the story of how Kirkwall fell hadn't spread yet.

"Bethany Amell." He repeated. "Beautiful name for a beautiful lady," He winked.

She felt her cheeks heat up at his playful flirting, before scolding herself; she was not a teenager anymore, but certainly lacked experience in that particular area. She was reminded of Emile de Launcet and briefly wondered if she seemed just as pathetic. He filled the spoon with stew and lifted it to her mouth and she blushed twice as hard at having to be spoon fed by a complete stranger.

"So, Bethany," He continued as she chewed a particularly tasty stew, "Anywhere I should return you to?"

_Damn it damn it damn it!_

Where could she go? Kirkwall was out of question, and so was Lothering – those were the first place the Templars would look. Where could she escape to? She saw only one possibility: Tevinter. It was risky, and it would certainly bring up questions. She reminded herself of the boy, Feynriel, who she and her brother had helped years before. It was a long shot, but her best one.

"Tevinter," She replied after a bit of hesitation. He frowned in confusion.

"Can't say I've heard of that, lass. Where is it? Cyrodiil? High Rock? You do look Breton."

It was her turn to be puzzled. He'd never heard of Tevinter? Where in the name of the Maker were this 'Cyrodiil' and 'High Rock'? Where was she, anyway?

"Where are we?" She questioned.

"Windhelm, of course." He stopped at her blank look. "Eastmarch? Skyrim?...Tamriel?"

Bethany realized with a tad of panic she'd never heard of those places before, which meant she must be very, very far away from home. How had she gotten there was a mystery she was happy to ignore in face of a more important question – where in the world was she? She noticed the young blonde in front of her was now giving her a very, very suspicious look. He put the bowl back in the counter and rested his forearms on his knees, staring at her intently.

"You are not a victim from The Butcher, are you? Where exactly are you from, Bethany?"

She decided she'd spill the truth and be done with it.

"Kirkwall, in the Free Marches." Nothing. "Thedas?" She asked hesitantly.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair with an apprehensive look.

"You are either mad, lying, or in very deep trouble, lass. I'm leaning towards the latter."

"I'm not lying," she answered. She wasn't too sure about her sanity.

"I do believe you, and you don't look too crazy. Which can only mean one thing: I think we have a serious case of Oblivion-Walking here."

"What?"

"Oblivion-Walking," He reached out for her flagon and took a sip of it. "Is when something happens in Mundus – in the mortal plane – and the veil between planes is cut thin. You fall into Oblivion, and if you're lucky, Oblivion throws you back. Except the planes are constantly shifting, so you end up landing into another different plane of Mundus altogether."

She frowned. A brief understanding of her situation was beginning to settle in, but she dared not be sure just yet.

"I'm not sure I get it," she said.

"Have you per chance been nearby any sort of powerful magical blast, creature, or artifact?"

She could only think of the Chantry blowing up, Orsino's horrible transformation into a Harvester and Meredith's oddly unnatural sword.

"Um, yes. All three of them, in fact."

"That explains it. To put it simply, all that magical energy together shot you into another world. So, welcome to Nirn, Bethany Amell. We are currently in the continent of Tamriel, in the northern province of Skyrim."

She wasn't really sure whether that was the best thing she'd ever heard or the worst. On one hand, no one would know her, which considerably added to her chances at keeping her head after Kirkwall. On the other hand, wherever there were mages, so there were Templars, and she was even more vulnerable to Templars in an unknown world, nowhere to go.

_Not that I had anywhere to go in Thedas,_ she thought bitterly.

All in all, it was a pretty despairing situation. But then again, so was her life.

She placed her head in her hands and fought the urge to weep. _Now what, Bethany? _She'd lost her father and her brother – _both_ her brothers – and then her mother, and every one of her friends. Anders to her brother's hands. Isabella was long gone, carrying with her the Qunari relic. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Merril – she didn't know what happened to them. She didn't even know whether her brother survived, whether Meredith just let him go. She felt her hands dampen with tears – _damn it. _Strong hands grasped her shoulders.

" – lass? Hey, lass, it'll be okay. I'll help you find your way back. You'll see your friends and family again, don't worry."

She knew even if she got back, she'd never see her friends and family – what family? – and that thought destroyed her completely. She broke down into incontrollable sobs. He moved forward and enveloped her in a hug.

"Come on, lass. It's not fitting for such a beautiful lady to cry. And I'm a man of his words, see? I'll get you back home, I promise." He stopped then, considering another different possibility. "Something horrible happened back on your world, didn't it? That's why you're here. Something terrible happened and you ended up in Nirn as a result."

She nodded, unable to make up a coherent answer. They stood like that for what seemed like ages, him waiting patiently for her to calm down.

"You don't even seem surprised at meeting someone from another world," she sniffled after a while. He chuckled.

"Lass, this is Tamriel we are talking about. Land of giant humanoid cats and lizards. I see weirder things on my morning strolls. Divines, I swear the other day I saw a mammoth flying through the sky as fast as a dragon – though that might have been something in the mead."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically and he grinned.

"Plus, it's not uncommon for Oblivion to spit out things at us. We do get Outworlders every once in a while, but, mostly, it's just demons and magical artifacts. I think I lucked out on the first beautiful lady."

" – Oh. I mean, thanks." She replied awkwardly.

He laughed. She noticed he was a very cheery kind of man. He picked up the bowl again. Taking a spoonful of stew, he scowled in distaste and shook his head at her.

"Now, see what you've done? It's gone cold."

That reminded her again that she had no money at all.

"Um, sorry. And, ah, I don't think I can pay for that. Or the room, or the tunic, or, you know, everything else."

He rolled her eyes at her.

"Lass, please, I'm a gentleman. I'm paying. And it's no matter."

He changed his grasp on the bowl, holding it from the top, then put his other hand below it. He twitched his fingers below it, and a little flame lit up, which he lifted closer to the stew until it was boiling.

"See? Problem fixed – lass?"

She was positively gaping at him, her jaw hanging open. A tiny little flicker of hope grew in her chest – he was a mage! He would surely help her out, wouldn't he?

"You're a mage!" She exclaimed dumbfounded.

He stared at her for a good three seconds before bursting into laughter again.

"A mage? Me? Ha! Hardly!"

"But you just did magic!"

"So if I give you a battleaxe and you swing it around, that immediately makes you a warrior?"

"That's different!" She huffed outraged.

He stared at her with twinkling blue eyes. "How so?"

"You can do much more destruction with magic than you can with an ax."

"That is debatable," He replied with a smirk.

She scowled.

"Well, anyone can have a battleaxe But you are either born with magic, or you don't have it. And having axes doesn't make Templars hunt you down or get you locked in forever at a Circle."

He raised his brows at her.

"I believe we are having a cultural clash here, lassie. Tell me more about those 'Templars' of yours."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"The Templars. You know, the ones supposed to protect society from mages and mages from society, but who in fact just oppress innocent magic wielders?"

He looked up absently and scratched his head thoughtfully. "Can't say I've heard of any mage-hunting order. I don't think we have those here, lass. I hope you won't miss them."

She considered for the first time this may actually be a dream, and she was stuck in the Fade with the man in front of her, who was likely a demon.

"What do you do to mages, then?" She challenged in an unusually aggressive tone. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"We don't _do_ anything to mages, lass. Everyone is born with some magic, a bit more or a bit less depending on the race. Some, like me, just don't know what to do with it, so we refrain ourselves to swinging fireballs at emergencies and cooling off mead to impress girls. Those who want to become real mages can always go to schools and learn it."

Bethany was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. She grasped the cupboard to steady herself.

"Lass, are you feeling alright? Bethany?"

"What about demons? And blood magic?"

"Maybe you should get some rest and we can continue this talk later?"

"No!" She almost snarled. "Answer me!"

"Okay, okay, okay. Um. Demons. Well, conjuration isn't forbidden and nor is necromancy, though the latter is usually frowned upon. Public display of the undead is usually illegal, and body and spirit may not be used without permission from the owner. Conjuring demons is okay as long as you can keep them on a leash. Daedra worship is also no big deal as long as you don't make a mess over it. Trouble in that area is tended by the Vigilants of Stendarr."

He stopped for a few seconds, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

"I'm not sure what you mean by blood magic. Vampirism is mostly taken care of by the Dawnguard; we had a little issue with vampires a while ago but it's all settled down now."

She felt her heartbeat double. A world with to blood mages? It was just too good to be true.

"What about possession?"

He took his time with that question, thinking hard. "It happens, but very rarely. Last reported case I can recall was that of the sword, Umbra, which possessed its owners. It was destroyed, though. That was – I can't be sure, but at least hundred and fifty years ago. It had no direct relation to mages, either. Whoever held the sword was possessed."

"It doesn't make any sense," She protested. "Magic connects you to the Fade, which obviously makes you more open to possession. Why don't mages here get possessed?"

"I am no mage, Bethany. I have little knowledge of that kind of thing. Though, I'm not sure what the Fade is, but that's not where we get our magic from here in Nirn. Our magick flows right from Aetherius, the realm of the gods."

She was guessing magick was just another word for 'mana'.

"So that means magic is…holy?"

He chuckled at that. "Why, lass, I've never thought of it that way. I suppose it does make sense to refer to magic as 'holy', since it comes from the gods and all. And then again you are very clearly a mage, so why not?"

She felt her cheeks flush again, much to his never-ending amusement.

"What if mages go rogue?", she asked, eager to distract him.

He frowned.

"Honestly, lass, our world is called Nirn, which means 'The Arena'. There is no time to deal with a few wild mages. If one gets to be too much trouble, the Jarls place a bounty on them, so that mercenaries and adventurers finish them off. If one gets to be really, really much trouble, they call the fighters guild – The Companions here in Skyrim."

He paused, then grinned before continuing.

"Now, if all else fails and one gets to be trouble to godly standards, then they call the local cataclysmic-trouble-solving-champion. In Skyrim's case, the Dragonborn, namely, me. It usually doesn't get that far, though. People are too worried about bigger things, such as the dragon outbreak or the sociopathic elves who want to enslave humanity."

He was some kind of champion? Dragon outbreak? _Elves_ enslaving _humans_? She shoved all her doubts asides for a much more urgent, gnawing question.

"So it is okay to be a mage?"

He blinked at her, tilting his head to the side as if he found her question particularly intriguing. "Of course it is okay to be a mage, lass. What kind of twisted world you come from, anyway?"

Still too shell shocked, she asked her newest Very-Important-Question-Number-Two.

"So no one will lock me in for being a mage? I am…free?"

"Lass, mages are just people. Granted, most Nords don't like magic, but then again, most Nords don't like anything that is not another ax-swinging Nord. I'm a Nord, too, but I don't mind mages."

He winked.

"That's not the impression you passed," she pointed out. He frowned.

"What – oh. Wuunferth. Well, that's nothing generic. We just hate each other. I have lots of friends who are mages. Like Serana!"

He smiled, as if recalling a particularly amusing memory.

"Serana is a mage too, and Farkas, this other friend, used to give her a real hard time over it, calling her a milk drinker and such. Then, this one day, Serana decided she'd had enough, so she shoved an ice spike –"

He paused at Bethany's expression.

"You know what? Never mind. But I bet no one would bother you over our magic if they see you around with me."

"So I could have a normal life? I could get married, and, and have children and build a family?" She said, more to herself than to him.

"Bah. Normal is overrated. As to the getting married and having children – sure, why not? And, on a side note, may I volunteer?"

Her chest felt like it would explode from joy. _Maker ,please let this be real. _She faced him, forcing back the genuine smile that wanted to come up, feeling sunnier than she ever had since she discovered she was a mage. She obligated herself to remain serious.

"You are not a demon, are you?"

_Because of course he'd tell you if he were._

He frowned. "Sheesh, lass, and here I thought you might like me. I didn't think I was this ugly."

"I just have to be sure. This is too good to be true. It sounds too much like a desire demon's scheme."

"Do demons usually confess they are demons when asked? That doesn't sound very bright," He mused.

"Well, not really," She admitted.

"How do you know for sure, then?"

If he was a demon, he was an awfully nice one, helping her unmask him. Of course, that could be just another trick.

"A demon can't make me see anyone I have never seen before," She said, remembering her father's lessons.

"Well then, have you ever seen me before?" He asked.

"I can't be sure. You might be some passerby I didn't pay attention to."

He dramatically put his hand over his hearth. "I am not worthy of attention, then? You wound me, lass."

"That's not -" She protested.

"I'm just joking. Pity you happened to appear in Windhelm and not in Riften, though. The innkeeper there is an Argonian and I bet meeting her would erase all your doubts. Would it help of I told you I'm actually of Aedric blood?"

"Aedric?" She questioned.

"Aedric. You know, the gods? Do you people worship anything where you're from? Here we worship the Nine Divines – or Eight Divines, if you're near an elf. Long story. Anyway, I so happen to share blood with one of those Nine Divines – _longer_ story – so I am probably the opposite of demon."

Bethany closed her eyes, the excess information making her head spin. "We only worship one god in Thedas – the Maker."

"The Skaal in Solstheim worship a Maker, too. Maybe it's the same one. I'm a worshipper of the Nine at heart, but I do get blessings from the Maker's stones when I go to them. Though that must be a reward for cleansing them – and _that_ story is longer than the two others put together. I could take you there someday, if you want."

She was not sure she wanted, for one very simple reason – he'd said she'd fallen into Oblivion. That, according to the Chantry, was what happened to those who defied the will of the Maker – forever condemned to walk a world of demons, away from the Maker's sight. And what she had done at Kirkwall, the rebellion she had incited, definitely went against the Maker's will.

"There's one more thing," Bethany spoke. "This place, Oblivion, what is it?"

He looked humored by her question. "That, lass, is one thing not even the greatest scholars have been able to answer. It's a realm, I suppose. Something similar, but not quite the same, as the Void. I've been there about a dozen of times, which is about a dozen of times more than I would like to."

"And why did I come back? I was dead. Meredith ran me through with a sword. It doesn't make any sense that I survived."

He shrugged. "Got into a Daedric Prince's good side, probably. From what I gathered, you were quite the objector to necromantic arts, so I'd guess Meridia. She has a passionate joy in rewarding people who fight the undead. Though it also sounds like something Azura would do. I wouldn't worry too much about it. They might eventually ask you to do some task in return. Nothing we can't manage, though."

"We?" She said, a hint of a smile threatening to break through.

"What, think you would get rid of me this easily? You owe me a stew. And a cup of mead, and a tunic, and almost a week's worth of inn hosting. Most of which I can forgive – all but the mead. You must pay me that mead."

She smiled then, her Sunshine side returning full blast after she was so sure it was lost. "Well, I suppose I do need to see a couple hundred more people before I can make sure this is real."

His eyes sparkled with her agreement to accompany him. She wouldn't tell him, but she was already quite positive she was not in the Fade. Not only because demons would hardly be able to come up with such complex individuals such as him, but also for something else. A demon would be predictable – it would offer her what she most deeply wanted. Peace, her family back, her home whole and rid of darkspawn.

A demon would never go for the _second_ thing she most wanted. Why offer the second best thing, when the first one is much more effective? To Bethany, though, the second best was just enough. She had always been second – to her brother, to Orsino, so why would she mind the second-to-best thing? She was more than happy with it.

"Great! You're going to love our next destination! I have a book to deliver, so we're going to Winterhold!"

"Winterhold?" She asked curiously.

"Yes! That's where Skyrim's mage's College is. It's not as majestic as the Arcane University, but I dare say it's the second best place to learn magic in the whole Empire. It doesn't have all the resources of the Colleges of Whispers or the Synod, but it doesn't have the pains of being involved in politics, either."

Bethany honestly wouldn't mind learning magic at the second best College. Especially when opposed to Thedas' no-magic-college-at all situation. She didn't really consider The Circle a school of magic – it was much more like a prison. And not being involved in politics was more than a little relieving.

"You're going to love Savos Aren – he's the Archmage there. And J'zargo! Ha! I can't wait to see your face at meeting your first Khajiit!" He stopped, losing a bit of his excitement. "Also, there is probably the best place to start looking for your way back home."

Back home. But Bethany didn't have a home anymore, did she? After all, what was there in Thedas for her to want to go back for? Fear, oppression, running for her life, a brother she no longer knew? She bit her lip and felt herself tear up again, though this time, it was as much of hope as it was of grief.

"I think," She hesitated. "I think I might be ready to make a new home."

His smile was so radiant she was tempted to pass on the title of 'Sunshine.'

"I can't wait until you meet my friends," he said excitedly. He reminded her a bit of the children in the Circle on the rare occasions they were allowed a walk. "You'll love Serana. And, ah! Paarthurnax and Odahviing!"

He babbled on for a while about the many people and places he would take her to, and she was content to hear without really listening, eventually nodding her agreement. As he talked, he spoon-fed her the stew, which she had to admit was quite delicious.

"You should rest, lass. The quicker you get better, the quicker we'll be able to leave. Windhelm is actually an awful city. Just wait until you see Whiterun or Solitude!"

He helped her back into a lying position, then gathered the dirty dishes and blew the candles, engulfing the room into darkness.

"Good dreams, Beth," He said from the doorway.

"Already calling me nicknames," she mumbled, "And I don't even know your name."

He could hear his laughter as he closed the door to her room – no locking sounds, she noticed.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face. It was not what she most wanted, but it was the second best thing. And Bethany Hawke was more than happy with seconds. Especially if it was a second chance.

* * *

**_I'm not sure what was that. Just a little plot bunny I got from replaying Dragon Age 2. _****___Hope you guys liked it, and happy Easter everyone!_**


	2. Chapter 2

It had been half a year and Bethany Hawke was adapting just fine. The man, who she later found out was named Haraldr, had taken her to the Mage's College in Winterhold, where she had decided to stay – much to his disappointment. What she did there wasn't all that different from what she had done in The Circle back in Thedas – dedicating her time to studying the magic arts – and some might say her life hadn't changed much.

They would have been wrong.

Back in Thedas, she'd been a senior member of The Circle, a teacher even; in Winterhold, she'd started out from scratch as an apprentice. She didn't mind it, however; even though she absolutely refused to try anything related to Conjuration _–demons demons demons - _there were just so many new things to learn.

Mirabelle had told her –_ and they were the most beautiful words she'd ever heard – _that the College was a place to practice and study magic freely, a place of sharing knowledge. Even so, Bethany had been more than a little surprised when the master wizards asked her if she could please demonstrate that frost spell she called Cone of Cold. And she couldn't help but feel a little proud when Faralda told her it was quite impressive – especially since the elf was so hard to please.

Bethany would wake up in her room -_not cell-_ and put on her robes -_not mandatory uniform-_. She always woke a little bit earlier than necessary and spent a few minutes admiring the beautiful blue pillar of light on the center of the Hall of Attainment – a focal point, it was called, and they were said to aid mages with stability when casting spells.

There were three Foci at the College, and though Bethany wasn't sure about their effects on her spells, they certainly helped her found her peace. She liked to look at them and remind herself she was at a Magic College _–not prison – _and, silly as it may sound, she thought the pillars gave the place a very magic-school feel. So she'd sit down there and look at the lights, until her fellow students _–not prisoners-_ woke up too and they went down together for breakfast.

And then there were her classmates. There were three other apprentices and she wasn't quite sure which one was the oddest.

First and foremost, there was J'zargo. He was, well, a cat. A big, walking, talking _cat. _Bethany had sometimes wondered what passed through a cat's mind – they'd always struck her as somehow lonely and mischievous animals; as it turned out, she had been right. J'zargo was a competitive and dedicated student, even though he couldn't seem to get his grammar right. Somehow, she found him adorable – she'd even caught him playing with yarn once, much to her infinite amusement. Anders would have loved _–but Anders was dead-._

Then, there was Brelyna. She was an elf, except gray-skinned and red-eyed. Bethany would have thought her appearance odd, except she'd already spent all of her surprise with J'zargo. Fortunately, she was much easier to talk to than the cat, and she was actually quite nice. She always seemed somehow nervous and told Bethany she went under a lot of pressure from her family; Bethany in return told her a bit of her own story back at Kirkwall – Brelyna had been thrilled at meeting an Outworlder. It didn't take them long to become friends.

Haraldr told her Brelyna had once accidentally turned him into a cow, but Bethany didn't believe everything Haraldr said, even though he had not been lying about the lack of Templars, or how magic was not a crime. Or about the existence of lizard people.

Last, but not least, there was Onmund, who was just human, or so she hoped. Like Haraldr, Onmund was a Nord, one of the human races in Tamriel, which apparently had 'being enormous' as a prerequisite. In all her life, Bethany had never met so many tall, sturdy people. So far, every single Nord she'd seen, women included, were big enough to break her in half. Haraldr didn't let her hear the end of it, constantly crushing her 'delicate little Breton body' in suffocating bear hugs.

As opposed to her blue-eyed ruffian of a savior, Onmund was polite and civil, something Haraldr had blamed as an influence of magic, which according to him was something for 'women, elves, Bretons and the eventual effeminate Nord like Onmund'. That had earned him a punch in the ribs which, much to Bethany's despair, seemed to hurt her hand more than it hurt the burly blonde.

At the end of the day, Bethany liked to go for walks around the city borders _–just because she could – _and Onmund always offered to accompany her, claiming Skyrim was a dangerous place and she shouldn't go out alone. Though she was more than capable of defending herself, she enjoyed the company, so the two had made a habit out of these walks.

Winterhold was a rather small city, though she had learned from the books it used to be twice as big before half of it collapsed into the sea. Even so, despite its size, the city was often bustling with travelers who had business in the College – looking for healers, hiring a battlemage escort, doing research on the library, amongst others.

Because of that, and also because it was the only place in the city one could get a drink, the inn was usually busy. And although the College provided her with food, housing and clothing, she had applied to a job at The Frozen Hearth. Not only it would give her a little coin, it would also provide her with the chance to meet new people _– thus proving this is not just a dream – _and learn more about this world's culture.

So she spent her morning at lessons, her afternoons studying at the College and her nights helping out in the inn. The patrons had been suspicious at first, in particular a rough looking Nord man that went by Kai Wet-Pommel, since she hadn't even bothered to hide she was a student at the College. Haraldr had explained Kai was one of the rebels, who wanted the independence of the province and did not like anything that was not another Nord with an axe, and therefore, weren't too fond of Breton-y Outworlder Mages.

Kai had given her a lot of trouble indeed, purposefully spilling his mead, acting rudely, making offensive remarks. Haraldr offered to give him a beating for it, but she absolutely refused – if the man didn't like her, then so be it. Much to her surprise, Kai eventually stopped picking on her, something the innkeeper Haran blamed on her 'docile demeanor'. Bethany wasn't too sure whether she should be pleased or offended at that.

The job didn't pay much, but it didn't really matter, since the College already covered up all her basic expenses. This extra coin she earned she spent with little things, such as buying herself some different food or exotic potions. There were some delicious pies and a little treat she couldn't get enough of, called 'sweet roll'. She also bought shoes – Bethany liked shoes.

That aside, she had very few belongings, the most expensive of them being her staff. It had been a gift from Haraldr, who had noticed she had no 'mage-stick', and it was honestly beautiful, the top shaped like a dragon's head that spit some wicked fire. He had told her he'd gotten it from an ancient powerful lich called Rahgot, but Bethany didn't believe everything Haraldr said and the staff didn't even look five thousand years old. He'd probably bought it in a nearby store.

It wasn't the life she'd dreamed of when she was young, but it was also much better than anything she could have dreamed of in The Circle. She didn't have to run, didn't have to wake every day in fear the Knight Commander's whims would take her life. She didn't have to wait in panic through one of her student's harrowing, didn't have to watch as a demon tried to take them over. She didn't have to worry about being made Tranquil.

Life was good, and Bethany was happy.

* * *

She had just gotten her monthly pay and now she and Brelyna were sitting in the latter's room, sharing sweet rolls and gossiping over irrelevant things. She was currently trying to extract some very interesting bit of information from her friend.

"I won't tell, I promise," Bethany said. "Is it someone from the city? Is it that dunmer who is always around the Jarl?"

"You mean Malur? Yew, Beth, I thought you knew me better than that!" Brelyna replied in indignation. "It's someone from the College," she added, flushing.

Bethany absently noted how odd it was when dunmer blushed – they went pink over gray skin, making them look almost purple.

"You're smitten with someone from here?" Bethany mused, thinking over the possibilities, "Is it professor Drevis?"

"What, just because he's dunmer? That's racist of you, Bethany."

"Sorry," She replied hurriedly, "I didn't mean to sound like that. It's just that, well, back where I come from, elves only got together with elves,"

"Your home must have been an awful place," Brelyna huffed. "No wonder you don't want to go back."

"It's not my home anymore," She replied in a slightly sad tone. "It was never the place for me."

Her friend noticed her gloom and pushed her another sweet roll. If she kept eating this much, she was going to go fat.

"No, it's -" The dunmer went all purple again. "It's one of the apprentices."

Bethany rubbed her hands excitedly. "Oooh! You like Onmund!"

Brelyna rolled her eyes.

"No, no, of course not! He's human, Beth! They're all awfully pink." She stopped, remembering who she was talking to, then quickly added, "No offense."

"None taken. And there are dark skinned humans, too, you know. Just usually not in places this cold." Bethany replied.

"I know, I know. Still, it's not Onmund. It's J'zargo."

_Maker's breath, is that even physically possible?!_

"You like… J'zargo?" _The cat?_

Brelyna looked away, the purple never leaving her cheeks. "Don't you think he's cute? He's so…fluffy."

Of all the things Bethany was not ready to deal with, her friend having a crush on a cat was probably among the top three. What in the Fade was she supposed to say about that?

"Ummm." She blabbered. "Sure. He's adorable."

"He's so talented," Berlyna continued, fortunately not noticing her awkwardness, "And ambitious! He'll be the greatest mage ever one day, you'll see."

She stopped, turning back to Bethany. "Do you think he's ever notice someone like me, Beth? I'm so clumsy and awkward -"

How in Oblivion was she supposed to know how to call a bipedal cat's attention? The best she could think of was covering oneself in yarn.

"Shhh. You're great, Lyna. He'd be a fool not to see you."

"You're just saying it." Brelyna accused. "I don't know what to do!"

"Am not! Maybe you should learn how to fish. Don't cats love some salmon?"

Brelyna's eyes widened and she shot forward, embracing Bethany in a hug.

"You are right! You are the best friend ever, Beth!"

Bethany spent the whole afternoon listening to her friend chatter about J'zargo. Brelyna was noticeably happier when she finally had to say goodbye, else she'd be late for work. There was just enough time for a brief stop at the library though, and she knew exactly the book she wanted. Urag didn't usually let people take books outside The Arcanaeum, but he always opened an exception for her when the exemplars weren't so rare. She only hoped the inn wouldn't be so busy so she could have time to read a bit.

Bethany raced through the streets of Winterhold, a book tucked under her arm. _Notes on Racial Phylogeny – Seventh Edition._

* * *

Haraldr visited often, and Bethany soon learnt he was actually a very important person, extremely influential around the province. It was odd to think of her cheery friend like that – he was very different from the nobleman and politician in Kirkwall. Then again, from what she'd heard, he was more like a hero-champion of some sort, just like her brothe – Just like the Warden had been.

He always brought her something. First the staff, then clothes, food treats and even jewels; her blonde friend absolutely spoiled her with gifts. She had protested at first, which only led him to bring her even more expensive things. Eventually, they'd struck a deal – he'd bring her books instead. That way, she could even help Urag add to the library.

From spell tomes to ancient journals, Haraldr brought her everything. Right now, she had just finished reading some very interesting notes on an old journal, about some plant called Crimson Nirnroot and its alchemical properties. She reached out to the pile of books he'd left her, taking the one on top. The cover was a simple one, plain brown with only the title.

The Lusty Argonian Maid.

Bethany frowned, opening the book with a bit of hesitation. Her eyes scanned the pages; By the Maker, it looked like the things Isabella gave her to read –

"Bethany?"

Surprised, she clasped her hands together, closing the book with a loud noise. Onmund stood in the doorway, looking at her with a frown.

"Beth. I didn't know you were studying. Sorry for interrupting."

"Um. Yes, studying. It's okay, Onmund. What brings you here?" She blurted, feeling the heat on her cheeks.

"It's time for our walk, remember? Are you feeling well, Beth? You look a bit flushed. We shouldn't go if you are sick."

"No, no, I'm fine," She said, discreetly dropping the book.

Or maybe not so discreetly. He narrowed his eyes at her and picked it up before she could stop him.

"What are you reading – Oh." He raised one quizzical eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you liked this kind of –"

She snatched the book from his hands and quickly kicked it under the bed, her ears burning.

"I don't! I didn't buy it– or borrow it – or - It was Haradr, he gives me books – I didn't even know -"

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a crooked smirk. "Right."

"It's true!" She said, reaching out and picking the first book in the remaining pile. "See?"

She lifted it, almost shoving it on his face. His smirk turned into a full grin and his other eyebrow went up. Despairing, Bethany gave the exemplar on her hand a look –

The Lusty Argonian Maid, Volume II. She was going to _kill_ Haraldr. In the slowest, most painful way imaginable.

"Oh, for the love of the Maker," She whimpered, hiding her face behind her pillow. He burst out laughing.

"Come now, Beth, I won't think any less of you for it. Divines, I'll be damned if I mind. You know what they say about good girls –"

"Onmund!" She protested, hitting him with the pillow.

He chuckled even harder.

She kept those books very well hidden after that, in the darkest corner of the last drawer of her most distant cabinet. She decided she'd hold into them until Haraldr returned, so that she could beat him to death with them, and it wasn't long until she got wind that he was back in Winterhold. Usually, he would come to the College to meet her and to deal with his business –_but mostly to see her she suspected –_ but this time, she'd give him a nasty surprise.

She went to her drawer to pick the accursed things – and found nothing instead. They were gone.

_Oh Maker._

* * *

**_First and foremost, I'd like to thank you guys for reviewing and asking for more. I'd truly not intended to continue this but due to your feedback, I ended up doing it anyway._**

**_Now then, as I said before, this is not a planned story but actually a compilation of plot bunnies written down, or as I like to call it, a 'oneshot collection'._**

**_Therefore, please do not expect a linear story line, regular updates, or really, anything decent. This is actually something I write to take a break from my main story and I only decided to publish it because I am a horrible, horrible person, who has no pity whatsoever on the poor victims of the brain-puke I put on the internet._**

**_Still, if you've read this far, you're a brave person. Thanks for reading!_**


	3. Chapter 3

Bethany pulled up her hood, intent in hiding her face. People were looking at her.

No, that wasn't right. People were looking at _him_ - he was some kind of celebrity. And then they were looking at her because they were looking at him and she was next to him and –

_By the Maker, Bethany, you sound like a teenager._

And they weren't even _doing_ anything. They did have their arms linked, but there was nothing unusual at that – she'd found out with much awkwardness that people of Skyrim were actually quite liberal when it came down to physical contact, probably something to do with the cold. She walked arm in arm with Onmund all the time, except no one _looked_ at them.

He came to an unexpected halt and she stumbled a bit before regaining her balance. Haraldr frowned.

"I have noticed you always become rather jumpy when we go out together, Beth. It makes me wonder whether there's something wrong."

Yes. No. _Yes._

_Maker damn it._

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Do I have something stuck between my teeth?" He mumbled, pushing his cheeks aside with his fingers in order to show his full mouth.

She fought the urge to smile, instead shaking her head at him timidly. Curse him and his foolishness – he was attracting even more attention.

"Then… have I suddenly turned into a Khajiit?"

He turned his head and waved his hand behind his backside, as if searching for an invisible tail. She beamed, unable to hold it back any longer.

"There, much better. Paranoia does not suit your sunny personality, lass."

He moved forward, dragging her with him, and people seemed to lose interest in them – much to her relief. They got into The Frozen Hearth and Bethany immediately directed herself – and him along with it – to the table on the dark corner. Haran greeted her with a nod and a smile; she and the innkeeper got along quite well and the woman didn't mind giving Bethany the day off when Haraldr came to visit.

They sat, she with her back to the corner, him in front of her. On one hand, she was pleased she could see the whole room, even though no one seemed to be looking at them right now. On the other, she was quite literally cornered, which could be bad should she need an escape. Even worse, the position allowed Haraldr to trap her under his gaze completely.

Like he was doing at that exact second.

They were blissfully interrupted by Dagur who asked what they would have. Haraldr ordered the usual bottle of Nord Mead, while she asked for a cup of warm milk – she had a weak stomach for alcohol. For some reason, her drinking preferences always seemed to amuse both her friends and the innkeepers.

Haran came to their table and served them their drinks. As she walked away, she caught Bethany's eyes; the woman looked at her, then at Haraldr, then back at her. She gave Bethany a sly little wink that seemed to suggest something she couldn't quite catch, but made her ears burn for some unexplainable reason nonetheless.

"You shouldn't ask for milk," Haraldr muttered, taking a swill of his mead. "People may begin to call you a milk-drinker."

"Right," Bethany replied, "That would be terribly insulting indeed. Because nothing could offend me more than insinuations about my diet."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Only children drink milk, lass. Real Nord men stop drinking it as soon as they turn old enough for anything else, and calling someone a milk-drinker is like calling them an immature child."

"I'm a woman, Haraldr. A …human woman."

She hesitated, not sure in which of this world's human races she fit in. She could easily discern an elf from a man from a Khajiit, but telling two different kinds of human apart was much harder.

"Breton," He supplied. "Definitively Breton. All small and scrawny and magick-y."

"I'm not scrawny," She protested.

She couldn't say anything about 'magick-y' or small – she was in a land of really tall people. It crossed her mind that Isabella would have loved all those big bulky men. She shoved the thought away quickly.

"You do seem healthier than when I found you," He conceded. "You looked as if you were being starved to death."

That's because she had been. Cutting on the food supplies had been only one of the many measures Knight Commander Meredith had used to weaken the mages, and by the time the Circle rebelled, they'd been going sorely on bread and water for almost three months. Adding that to the fact that Bethany often gave her own measly food to the younger apprentices, her lanky shape was easy to explain.

"Starvation is a good way to dampen one's spirits," She mumbled quietly, looking away. "The Templars knew that well."

For a moment, his eyes widened in shock, then he scowled.

"You know, lass, I would love to meet these Templars of yours. I'd show them the errors of their ways."

She sighed dejectedly.

"They were not entirely wrong, you know. I can understand them a bit - too many mages were involved with blood magic." She chewed her lower lip anxiously. "Even the First Enchanter himself."

She was suddenly teary-eyed again. Orsino had been like a second father to her, and his betrayal had hurt more than all. All, but one – her brother's. She shoved this other thought away, too, piling up with all the things she wanted to forget. She had a second chance at life, and she'd leave all that behind.

"It doesn't make what they did any less wrong. It's like killing all dragons because most of them are evil – and believe me when I say this has given me a lot of headache."

She'd never really considered the idea of nice dragons; were they even sentient creatures? She wondered if she could keep one as a pet –

The door was abruptly kicked open and a group of guards streamed in. She jumped on her seat, and the surprise made Bethany's heart speed up so much it hurt. She was suddenly overwhelmed by irrational fear. One of the guards turned his helmeted head in her direction and she froze with fear and the absolute certainty they had her now.

_They are here for me, oh Maker, they saw me on the streets and now they'll take me and turn me into tranquil and –_

"Lass? Are you feeling well?"

It was just too much welling up inside her and that's when she realized she was a little push away from going into shock. It had been half a year and she had adapted just fine, yet her trauma was forever. The terror was forever. She'd been given hell by the Templars, and she'd been given hell by the demons, and then it was suddenly all gone and she just didn't know what to do.

Not all Templars were evil – Thrask, Emeric, Keran and Cullen, for instance, had genuinely cared about the mages. In fact, Bethany could attest most Templars wanted what was best for all. But then there were those – Karras, Alrik, Mettin – those who were just monsters, and she knew her brother's influence was the only thing that kept them from her. And sometimes, she'd look at her apprentices and she _knew_ they were going through all kinds of abuse, and she knew there was nothing she could do.

In the end, with Meredith closing on them, her brother's name lost its value, too. She'd been beaten and humiliated and at times like that, the demons would whisper in her ear, and she got _so_ close to blood magic. Just so, so close. One thing kept her from it, and it was the thought that Orsino would be so disappointed. Ironically.

She realized she was shaking.

"I can't do this, Haraldr. I can't – I – I –"

"What? Lass, what -?"

His tone was that of pure confusion; he wasn't expecting her mental breakdown.

"Oh Maker – I can't – Every time a soldier looks at me –" She stood up despairingly.

"Bethany, for the love of Talos –"

"I have to get out of here – I have to –"

_"Kaan!"_

His voice reached her and she was suddenly swept by a crushing sense of calm and peace. Her breathing and heartbeats steadied and practically fell down on her chair. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't natural, either, and to Bethany, it was something akin to being drugged. It reminded her somewhat of a demon's seduction, and she would have panicked again, except she couldn't.

"What did you do?" She asked. Her tone was unintentionally soft.

"Used my Voice on you, sorry. You were on hysterics and I didn't know what else to do. Don't worry though, it'll pass anytime soon. Now, care to explain what's going on?"

She wanted really hard to be furious at him for doing whatever he had done, but the anger simply refused to rise. She sighed and previously turbulent emotions settled down as a dull ache.

"I can't do this – I can't leave my past behind."

He frowned. "You mean you want to go back?"

There was no magical calm spell strong enough to keep the tone of desperation out of her voice.

"_No!_ Maker, no. But I can't forget, either. I can't help but be uncomfortable when people look at me. I can't help but shake in fear when a guard passes by. In my mind, I'm always in danger."

He raised his brows in an expression of comprehension.

"Oh. You should have told me 're in shock, lass. A war trauma. And I bet staying cooped up in that College is not helping." He got up and extended his hand to her. "That's it. You're coming with me; I'll show you around fun places and you'll be good in no time. And if that doesn't work, then it's off to the temples of Dibella with you."

Bethany felt whatever magic he had done to her begin to dissipate, enough for her to feel rebellious.

"What? I don't even know who this 'Dibella' is. I don't worship her."

She was yet to catch up into this land's religion; there were books on it but she hadn't read them yet. Haraldr put on a smug smirk and his eyes sparked mischievously. It made Bethany very wary, for some reason.

"Oh, I'm sure the priestesses won't mind. And whatever sort of depression is plaguing you, they can _always_ alleviate it."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and his smile widened.

"I'm serious, Haraldr. I can't go. The College is going on an expedition under Saarthal and I don't want to miss it."

She noticed he seemed slightly displeased at that.

"You mean the ancient Nordic ruin? When are you going?"

"It's scheduled in about three months," She admitted.

"Then we can meet up with your friends there. We'll be in time, I promise."

"We?"

"Nordic ruins are dangerous, lass, and I'll be damned if I'm letting you hole up into one with only a bunch of mages. A big Nord with an ax, that's what you'll need there."

He tapped the weapon on his hip for emphasis, and Bethany scowled. She was quite capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much. Despite his denial, Haraldr was quite biased against mages.

"Archmage Savos is going," She pointed out. "And Onmund, too. He's a Nord."

"Are they taking any axes?"

Bethany gritted her teeth in irritation. She realized it would be no use arguing with the stubborn blonde – he'd just go anyway. She sighed and noticed his hand was still extended. She took it, and he helped her up.

"Fine, you can go too." She conceded.

His amusement was evident; he had never really asked her permission.

"Good! Pack up your bags then, we leave by midday."

"What…?! I never said I was going to follow you!"

He turned to her, his face absolutely serious.

"You can come voluntarily, or I can kidnap you and haul you around. Your choice. Either way, we leave by midday."

She glared at him. And glared. And glared. The silly grin never left his face.

"…Fine."

She _had_ to stop letting people push her around like that.

* * *

_**Well, there you go. Not much to say about it, except it turns out Bethany is rather hard to write. She's innocent, but not naïve. She's clueless, but not unintelligent. She's generous, but also headstrong, and I think that stubbornness is what kept her going at the Circle. **_

_**Of course all that would eventually take its toll on her, and while Warden!Bethany ends up bitter, I believe that has more to do with the taint than with being a warden in itself. Hence, I imagine Circle!Bethany, after being put under such stress, would behave somehow like a soldier - holding tight during the war, but breaking down when peace comes.  
**_

_**Or I could be going all wrong about it. There's always that possibility. Meh.**_

_**Anyway, thanks for everyone who read and reviewed!**_


	4. Chapter 4

The woman seemed perfectly at home with her muddy boots on the table, tilting the chair back dangerously, a bottle of mead on her hands. Her glowing crimson eyes stopped on Bethany for a dismissive second, then rested on Haraldr. He blinked, surprised.

"Serana. I didn't expect to see you here." He said.

"Miss me?" She asked with a half-smile. Bethany could swear she saw fangs in her mouth.

Haraldr frowned suspiciously. "I did, actually. You've vanished. What are you up to? I thought you didn't like Whiterun."

She took a sip of her drink. "I don't. Too many dogs for my liking."

Bethany blinked, thinking. She did not remember seeing any dogs in the city. Whiterun was in fact quite lovely, bigger than Winterhold but not nearly as massive as Kirkwall had been. It had a cozy, welcoming feeling to it.

Haraldr placed his axe on a nearby weapon hack, tripping in a bottle of mead on the way. Bethany looked down and noticed there was at least a dozen of those scattered around on the floor. The woman, Serana, didn't seem to mind adding to them, dropping the recently emptied one she held and opening another.

Bethany couldn't help but wonder how the hell she kept the chair balanced in such precarious position if she had drunk this much.

"Which brings us back to my question," Haraldr said, taking a seat next to her. "Why are you here?"

He took a nearby flagon, filled it and drunk it down, waiting for her answer.

"Not all dogs are bad," She replied, and he shot her a quizzical look.

"I'm in a secret love affair with Farkas." She explained, "Apparently, he likes the places I stick my ice spikes."

Haraldr choked on his drink, coughing with surprise.

"You're kidding me," he said, gasping for breath.

She grinned, and yes, those were definitely fangs in there.

"You haven't introduced me to your friend," She said, changing subjects. "You just left the poor girl standing. That's rude, Haraldr."

Bethany wasn't sure if she wanted to be introduced. Serana unsettled her; those fangs were rather intimidating, and back in Thedas, red eyes had been a mark of blood magic. Beisdes, the woman's attitude was a bit disturbing.

Haraldr blinked sheepishly.

"You're right. Bethany, this is Serana, the one I told you about." He turned to the woman. "Serana, this is Bethany, a friend from the College."

"Oh, so _that_ is why you've been going to Winterhold so often!" Serana laughed. "There's nothing but snow on that side of Skyrim; I should have known there was a girl involved."

Bethany frowned, unsure about the woman's insinuations.

Haraldr scowled. "Don't listen to her, Beth. Have a seat," He said, motioning to a nearby chair.

She hesitated, but ended up sitting. She watched the two attentively.

"Did Lydia unlock the door for you?" Haraldr asked.

"No, I actually got in through the window. She was quite surprised."

He rolled his eyes. "And where is she now?"

"I sent her off to run some errands for me. Hope you don't mind," Serana replied casually with a wave of her hand.

"That you come to my house, drink my mead and boss around my housecarl? You really took it literally when I told you to make yourself at home."

"I've been sleeping on your bed, too."

"Not with Farkas, I hope."

She burst out laughing. "Oh, no, he has his own room in Jorrvaskr, though Aela doesn't quite appreciate my presence. When she's there, we have to use the inn, which by the way, I pay with your money."

He threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. "I don't remember us getting married! What else did you do, read my mail?"

She smirked, drinking down the contents of her bottle and reaching for yet another. Bethany mentally calculated how close to an alcoholic coma Serana must be.

"Indeed. There was this lovely letter from a lady, Narri of Falkreath, about some fantastic things you did with your tongue. I would never have guessed _that_ was what the Greybeards taught you, Haraldr."

"_Serana!_" He censored, blushing.

That woman was turning out to be strikingly similar to Isabella.

"Also," She continued, ignoring him, "A letter from the Jarl. He wants to see you as soon as possible for a matter of utmost urgency."

Haraldr got up with a scowl. "Oh, brilliant. Thanks for telling me right away."

He moved back to the rack, picking up his axe and sliding it back to the sheath. He spilled the contents of his bag on a corner, shoving some objects on a nearby drawer and simply leaving others on the floor.

"I just wanted to enjoy the pleasure of your company a bit," Serana justified.

He finished packing and stopped at the door. Bethany got up too, ready to follow him.

"Well, I'm sure you won't mind entertaining Beth for a bit while I go see what the Jarl wants."

Wait, what –

The door banged behind him as he stepped out, leaving her behind.

Alone with his creepy friend.

_Maker help me._

She slowly turned back to face her companion. Serana was grinning widely, eyeing Bethany as if she was a particularly appetizing meal. She shifted, removing her feet from the table and sitting in a slouched position instead. She bore her unsettling crimson eyes on Bethany's chocolate brown and beckoned her forward.

Somehow, the mage couldn't help but obey. She stopped nervously in front of Serana and, not knowing what to do, began collecting the dropped bottles on the floor. Taking them two at a time, she carefully lined the bottles up on the side, and then spotted the mess Haraldr had left behind when he'd emptied his pack. Sighing, Bethany sat down next to it.

The blonde man had a collectionism problem, she was sure. He couldn't help but take everything that popped in front of him and shove it in his bag with no organization whatsoever. She went through the pile, trying to salvage what she could from the chaotic conglomeration.

Cringing with disgust, she pulled a slice of bread free from a cluster of mushrooms, insect parts, roots and something that looked like a gory, ratlike tail. Without thinking twice, Bethany threw the bread on the fireplace. She shuffled through the many indefinite objects and managed to save a couple coins and some bear claws.

"So," Serana said abruptly.

Bethany jumped on the spot with surprise. She'd been so focused, and the woman so quiet, she had forgotten she wasn't alone on the room. She realized those red eyes had been watching her intently all the while.

"So…" She said hesitantly, "… Haraldr spoke a lot about you."

"He did, huh?" Serana said with a hint of irony.

"Umm, yes. He told me you are an amazing mage," Bethany continued carefully.

"Oh, I get by."

"He said you could give half of Winterhold a run for their money."

Serana chuckled. "Possibly. You know them scholars – lots of reading, not so much of actual fighting."

"I see… so, are you a blood mage?"

_Smooth going, Bethany._

The woman frowned. "Is that what you people are calling us vampires now? Sounds silly. Blood is my diet, not my magical school; I don't go around calling your peers milk-mages, do I?"

"Vampires?"

Serana's frown twisted into a skeptical expression.

"Yes, vampires. You know, blood-drinking, night walking, troublesome vampires? Wreaked havoc on Skyrim a while ago?" She stopped at Bethany's blank face. "Have you been living under a rock for the last couple of years? Don't worry, I can relate."

"I'm actually from another world – Eugh!"

She pulled her hand free from Haraldr's mess and saw it was covered with some kind of disgusting glowing green goo. Serana noticed her issue and threw her a piece of cloth, in which she wiped her hands clean. It was only after she was done cleaning she realized it was actually one of Haraldr's tunics. She threw it in the fireplace and hoped he wouldn't miss it.

"Spriggan Sap," The vampire commented, "Good for Alteration magicks. So you're an Outworlder, eh? First time I meet one. Do all of you come from the same place?"

She shrugged. "I don't know; I haven't seen any others like me."

She hadn't even considered the possibility that someone else might have crossed worlds with her, but now that she thought of it, she honestly hoped not. The idea of meeting someone from her past, particularly now that she was starting to recover from it, was not very appealing.

"And have you found a way to get back to wherever?"

She tugged on the pile until she finally freed the wooded bowl from which the sap had spilled. Looking at it with distaste, she threw it on the fire as well.

"Thedas. I… actually like it here. Things were not so good back there; I don't think I want to return."

"Which has nothing to do with a certain blonde, I presume?" Serana teased.

It was almost as if she was implying… no, that didn't make any sense. Bethany frowned.

"I don't think I catch your meaning."

"You really don't, do you?" The woman said with a sigh. "Honestly, what did people do for fun from where you come from?"

"Not much," She admitted. "Mother was always very protective towards me, and the loss of Carver and the dangers of being in Kirkwall made her redouble her vigilance; I never really went out anywhere except with my brother. And then the Templars got me, and off to the Circle it was."

"The Circle?"

"It's a prison of sorts."

"You got arrested?" Serana said with a hint of amusement. "And here I thought you were the sweetest thing ever, cleaning Haraldr's mess and all."

Bethany scowled. "I didn't do anything wrong. The Templars cage mages simply for being mages."

"And they just go quietly?"

"Some escape, some rebel. But usually, the Templars take them when they're young. I – I don't really want to talk about it. I was eighteen when they got me."

"Seems like we both had bad eighteenth years," The vampire said darkly, and Bethany was taken aback by her mood swing.

"Is that so?" She ventured.

Serana stared with deep crimson orbs, and Bethany felt asphyxiated. "It was the year I got turned. Let's not go there."

She nodded, turning back to the things she was cleaning, eager to avoid the intense gaze. She heard a snort.

"So," the woman continued, "This means you never actually got to go out at night and have fun?"

She considered it for a bit. She'd met many times at the Hanged Man with Merril, Aveline and Isabella, but her brother was always present nearby, somehow spoiling the girls' night feeling. Plus, the fear of Templars, the gnawing worry about their financial situation, the incoming deadline for the Deep Roads expedition – there was always something in her mind preventing her from fully enjoying herself. It was always a bit depressing, too. The place was disgusting, like all of Lowtown.

"Well… I guess not really."

Serana slammed her mug on the table, her face in a renewed grin.

"That settles it then. You're going to have the time of your life today. Night's on me."

She blinked, surprised. "Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't you rather spend your night and your coin with the man you're seeing?"

The vampire waved it off with a light chuckle. "Farkas can stand a night alone. And don't worry about the money, I'm actually filthy rich. I take Haraldr's gold just to spite him."

Bethany gave her a doubtful look.

"Really," The woman insisted, "I even have a castle."

Before she could protest, Serana snapped her fingers absently. From the ground in front of the fireplace, a purple cloud twisted and shifted, until a demonic creature sprouted out of it. It vaguely resembled a dog, except it had three times the amount of teeth, glowing red eyes, and looked half-decayed.

It took Bethany a split second to have a fireball ready in each hand.

"Don't worry, it's friendly" Serana said, then faced the thing. "CuSith_. _Fetch me Aela."

It didn't seem friendly. The creature let out a guttural growl then blinked out of existence in a purple flash, leaving Bethany to wonder just what in the Void had it been.

"What was -"

She heard yelps of protest coming from the outside and someone knocked heavily. Serana whistled, standing to get the door.

"That was quick," She mused, opening the heavy wooden doorway to reveal a furious, cursing redhead.

The woman had three diagonal lines of green warpaint over her face, and was struggling irately with the demonic dog, which seemed intent on shoving her inside. She had to be the one the creature was sent for – Aela. Serana moved out of the way to allow her passage, then closed the door. CuSith shook his waist, as if wagging a missing tail, and Bethany wondered if he was actually happy.

"Why," The redhead snarled in uncontained rage, "Is your dog after me, leech?"

"Must be mating season," The vampire snapped back.

The newcomer's silvery eyes sparkled with fury and she clenched her fists. Before she could reply, however, Serana raised her hands in the universal signal for peace.

"Look, I hate you and you hate me, but can't we call a truce? For Bethany's sake?"

The redhead turned, noticing Bethany for the first time. Then, she did the oddest thing – flared her nostrils and took in a deep breath, as if actually sniffing her out. She seemed satisfied with what she got, and Bethany mentally thanked her mother for teaching her to shower every day.

"Who's the whelp?" Aela questioned.

"She's the girl Haraldr is wooing."

_What the -?_

"He's not –" She began to protest, only to be interrupted.

"The Outworder? She does seem better than the last one," Aela commented.

"You mean the backstabbing Redguard? Definitely." Serana replied. "This one is adorable – see, she's even voluntarily cleaning up his mess."

"Would you please stop talking about me as if I wasn't here?" Bethany complained.

"Got some nerve, too," The redhead added. "That still doesn't explain why I am here, though."

"We were doing some talking," the vampire explained, "And she told me she's never had the chance to go out and relax. I just thought maybe you and I could tag along and show her just how fun a girls' night out can be."

Serana put on an unsettling, mischievous grin, and to Bethany's despair, Aela seemed to match it with one of her own. She was sure those two knew of something she didn't, and was under the impression her opinion didn't really matter – she was about to be kidnapped.

She had a terrible feeling about this. Whatever they were hiding, it couldn't possibly end well.

"So what do you say? Peace? Just for tonight?"

"For the girl's sake." Aela conceded.

Haraldr chose that moment to barge in, and Bethany mentally thanked the Maker. Maybe she still had a chance to escape the incoming madness.

"Oh Divines! Please don't break anything on one another's head again!" Were his first words upon seeing Serana and Aela next to each other.

The two simultaneously rolled their eyes.

"Don't worry, we called in a truce," The vampire said.

"You did?" He said incredulously.

"We're taking your friend out for a girl's night," The redhead supplemented.

Haraldr's eyes widened. "You're not going to take poor Bethany out for a wild night just like that."

_Please listen to him!_

"No one asked you for permission, Hal." Serana snapped.

_No one asked if I wanted it, either!_

"Did you even ask her if she wants to?" He shot back.

Bethany opened her mouth to speak –

"Ofcourse she does!" Aela barked, pulling her arm and forcing her to stand.

"We're just taking her down to Honningbrew," Serana reassured, "Have a few drinks, maybe go out to see the lights in the sky."

"Hunt a couple mammoths," The redhead added.

_Wait what -?!_

"Skyrim is dangerous at night," Haraldr protested in a final feeble attempt to save Bethany's soul.

"Oh, indeed it is! Woe to us! Imagine all the kinds of hideous creatures that are out there? Divines forbid, we might even meet a werewolf!" Serana said pointedly.

_They have werewolves –?_

"Or some sort of heinous super vampire," Aela growled.

And that's when it all clicked inside Bethany's head. Serana had admitted being a vampire, and though she was not too sure about the specifics, she was positive the woman had casually mentioned feeding on blood. And, from what she'd collected from their conversation, Aela just might be a werewolf.

And they were about to take her out for a drink.

Haraldr sighed in defeat. "Take it easy with her? Please?"

Aela, who was still holding her arm, pulled her toward the door.

"We'll be back before dawn," The redhead promised.

"Maybe." Serana added as she pushed Bethany out of the house.

She stepped out into the chilly night. Turning around, she met two glowing pairs of eyes – one deep crimson, one bright silver. Both women were grinning. Both had fangs.

_Oh shi –_

"You're going to have the time of your life."

_Maker help me._

* * *

**_I just had to do this. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Aela and Serana went out at night together. Too bad I couldn't work Karliah in - it would have been perfect._**

**_I've always had the feeling that, serious matters aside, poor Bethany is somehow very easy to push around, and those two are total bullies._**

**_Deepest thanks to everyone who favorited, followed and reviewed!_**

**_Thanks for reading!_**


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